My head isn't cut out for I-94. We wind our way through Jamestown headed northwest on 52. Lots of stop lights. Not something I'm used to seeing. Hit the brakes a little too late.

Sam doesn't seem bothered. Just turns the cab light on and reads a book. Three Cups of Tea. Never heard of it.

"What are you reading?" I say.

Not that I need to ask. Need to make conversation, though. Silence on the prairie is one thing. Silence with a hitchhiker in a truck you have no idea how you got to be driving is another.

"Nothing," Sam says. Stuffs the book into her backpack.

"I guess so. Kind of dark out for a book," I say.

Sam flicks off the cab light. My eyes adjust to the road outside. We're outside Jamestown now. The pavement dangles beyond the headlights like a gray thread in a pool of black water. The night is bigger on the prairie. It circles everything in 360 degrees of darkness. Above and below the road.

Sam leans her head against the window. Fakes sleep. Relaxed as a pile of lumber against the glass.

I watch the keychain dangling in the ignition. It dances to the rhythm of the engine. I can still make out that word, "Seriously?" It's right next to the picture of Joe and Elma.

"Seriously," I mouth. "Seriously."

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